


The Dragons Fangs

by orphan_account, SystematicDownfall



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - A Song of Ice and Fire, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-20 14:09:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3653289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SystematicDownfall/pseuds/SystematicDownfall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This tale follows Rhaego Targaryen, first of his name as he tries to find himself after the atrocities done to his family when he was barely a man. Across the Narrow Sea he faces challenges and tries to build bonds with strangers in hope of escaping the abyss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Memory

**Author's Note:**

> This work is my own fan fiction set in the fictional universe of ASOFAI. User ValiantMurder and I are co-creating a series involving two original characters of our own that will eventually cross paths. 
> 
> (Rhaego Targaryen/ Visenya Targaryen are characters that obviously do not exist in the series and have been added for creative purpose.)

His eyes opened instantly, although he could not tell what woke him. As he blinked he felt no pain, his eyes did not sting or ache, it was as if he had not slept at all. Perhaps he hadn't. Shifting himself back against his headboard Rhaego Targaryen took in his surroundings. His room was the same, a somewhat spacious chamber with white walls and a large open hearth opposite his four poster bed. The fire had burnt out hours ago but still some embers smoked. On his right was his wardrobe, filled with lavish and rich clothing that befit a Targaryen prince, but Rhaego cared not for such things. The only clothes that mattered to him were in the chest at the end of his bed.

Crawling out from beneath the warmth of his blankets he moved towards it. A sudden gust blew through the open window to his left, with it the wind carried the smells of the small garden outside, where spring was in full bloom thanks to his mother’s flowers.

Rhaego edged of his bed and sat on his chest for some time gazing at the tapestry that covered the southern wall of his bedchamber above the hearth.  _Aegon the Conqueror,_ he thought,  _my great ancestor._ The tapestry depicted 'The Beginning' of it all. Aegon and his two sisters, Visenya and Rhaenys Targaryen, perched upon the backs of their dragons: Vhagar, Meraxes and Aegon's beast Balerion. "Balerion the Dread", Rhaegar said out loud to no one but himself, the words felt strange upon his tongue yet seemed to give the tapestry life. All three of his ancestors held their swords upwards to the sun, two of which were famous Valaryian swords, Aegon's "Blackfyre" and Visenya's "Dark Sister." One lost, and one cherished. 

 _Visenya,_ the prince thought;  _how fitting for my sister to wield the blade of the ancestor she is named for._ Visenya was Rhaego's sister, twin sister and the woman he was betrothed too. But she was also the girl he had loved since the first day he could remember seeing her face, her dark violet eyes mirroring his own. Another gush of wind pulled his mind back to the present, jumping up from his seat he swung open his chest and pulled out his training clothes, a rough brown leather tunic and breeches, both well-worn and patched from months of vigorous training each day. _My armour,_  he thought to himself jokingly.

Pulling off his smallclothes the Prince should of felt cold in the early spring morning, but Rhaego never felt the cold. His blood was the blood the Dragon, and within it the fires of his ancestors burnt brightly. Rhaego reached into the chest and pulled out his boots, both had seen better days, and one even had a hole or two, but Rhaego didn't care. The feel of them upon his feet was as familiar as his own face. After pulling on his breeches and tunic he slipped his pale feet into the soft leather boots. Lastly he tied his hair up, being a Targaryen his hair was silver and kept long, but tradition sometimes got in the way of training. So while the Prince played the warrior he liked to keep his hair up, otherwise it might block his vision and that would give his sister an advantage, of which she had no need.

Despite being a girl his twin sister trained with the sword as if she were a man, and hit just as hard too. The bruises she had gifted him yesterday ached even now, but each one was more motivation, to grow stronger and to give her a gift or two of his own. Gazing at himself in the mirror next to his wardrobe he tried to picture his sister as she would look in her own training clothes, but all Rhaego saw in the refection was himself, with his brothers’ shadow ever present behind him.

Seven years his elder Rhaegar Targaryen was the first son of Aerys Targaryen the second, and Rhaego's eldest brother. For as long as he could remember Rhaego had looked up to his brother and strove to be like him, to even surpass him in any way he could.

While Rhaegar spent hours on end reading book after book, Rhaego spent all the time he could training with the sword. When he was too tired or sore to practice, he joined his brother in their fathers study, and while Rhaegar lost himself in some dead man’s story, Rhaego made his own. Wielding a quill had come just as easily to him as wielding a blade, and with it he wrote stories of glorious knights, and the great things they did. But if Rhaegar had ever bothered to read any of these stories, he would probably realise that almost all of the heroes his little brother wrote about were based on him.

At nineteen years of age Rhaegar Targaryen was already a knight, and with the help of his close friend Arthur Dayne, he was destined to become one of the greatest, and the future King of Westeros.

After Rhaego left his bedchamber and begun his decent towards the training yard he soon heard the sound of his brothers’ harp echoing along the castle wall. The harp was one of Rhaegar’s other favourite pastime, but alongside the gentle notes of music Rhaego heard the sound of steel on steel. Following the music he soon found himself in the small courtyard in the centre of the Red Keep's living quarters. There he found his elder brother exactly where he thought he would be, perched on the side of the stone dragon fountain his father had had built before his birth, in place of fire the dragon spouted water from between its jaws. While Rhaegar's fingers strummed away at the strings of his harp, his eyes never left the two combatants that danced to the art of swordplay. Following his brothers stare Rhaego saw who the two dancers were, one was his brother's friend Jon Connington, the other, his twin sister Visenya. 

"Rhaego!" his sister exclaimed, her head of silver spinning to look at him as he walked into the courtyard, but as her eyes met his she failed to see her opponent advancing towards her. Before Rhaego could warn her his sister of the danger she was on the ground. But instead of a shriek of pain, the sound Visenya made was a shriek of annoyance.

"Jon you bastard!" she yelled, a laugh muffled behind the words. "How dare you strike a Princess?!" The man she addressed, Jon Connington was a knight much like Rhaego's brother Rhaegar, and both were close of age. The pair had been friends since before Rhaego’s birth.

With a head of red hair and stubble to match, Jon was not handsome like the serving girls and maids of the Red Keep whispered about Rhaegar. But while others might have been envious, Jon Connington was never anything but cheerful when Rhaego saw him, which was always in his brother’s presence. "Apologises my lady", Jon said with a bow, "but if you had not wished me to strike you, perhaps you would have fared better sparring with a straw dummy?' He added, a smirk creeping across his face. 

"Oh don’t give me that my Lady rubbish and help me up you smug fool" Visenya said, extending her hand with a smile that Rhaego knew too well. No sooner had Jon grasped Visenya's hand than the next moment he was on the ground himself, with Visenya kneeling on his chest, her sword resting across his throat. "If this had been a real fight Jon, you would be dead" she said with a hint of malice in her voice.

"Enough Visenya." Rhaegar's voice almost made Rhaego jump. He had not noticed the music had stopped. "If this had been a real fight you would have died the moment your eyes left Jon's. Even more so now." Rhaegar motioned toward the two with his harp. Rhaego and his sisters eyes moved together, there positioned between Visenya's stomach and Jon's was a knife, pointed upward inches from her clothing. The smirk returned to Jon's face as Visenya saw the knife in his right hand.

"But, how..." she said, genuine disappointment echoed in Rhaego's sisters words. 

"When you fight alongside your brother as much as I have Visenya, you learn a thing or two" Jon said as he and Visenya rose to their feet. Returning the knife to the scabbard on his leg, he dusted himself off with his left.

"Rhaego. I hardly notice you had joined us" Rhaegar joked, a hint of amusement in his voice "Did you see your sister die?"  Ignoring the look of annoyance on Visenya's face as her head snapped to look at their elder brother Rhaego chose to provoke his sister anyway.

"Yes I did, the first _and_ the second time. If it had been me I would not have been so stupid" he said, picking up Jon's discarded sword in his right hand, knowing too well the outcome of his jibe. Years of teachings, as well as a lifetime in his sister's company caused Rhaego to raise the sword in defence by instinct. Almost in the moment the words had left his mouth Visenya lunged at him, the clash of their swords echoing in his ears.

"Stupid?!" Visenya cried, true anger filling her words, "I will show you stupid!" With a second swing of her sword their duel was on. If there was anything his sister hated more than being embarrassed, it was being embarrassed by her twin brother.

Visenya advanced on him pressing her attack, as she always did. Rhaego let her come, raising his own sword only in defence of her blows. Visenya was a strong fighter, her skills were better than most boys their age and the strength she possessed was almost unnatural for someone of her size. While shorter than Rhaego by only a few inches, her stature was not what Rhaego would call small. Her shoulders were not as broad as his own, and her breasts were small, albeit enough to cause a bulge in her tight leather tunic. Yet her arms were all muscle, thanks to the years of training the twins had shared together.

Rhaego could overpower her blow for blow, but his sister fought with a ferocity that could only be described as Dragon like. He had respect for her as a warrior, but her biggest flaw was that she was predictable. It was all too easy for Rhaego to anger her to the point of her charging full force at him, forgetting the discipline their teachers had tried so hard to instil in her. But before Rhaego could counter her assault with his own attack, their brother appeared beside them.

"Enough!" Rhaegar cried, his hands moving like lightening to grasp both of their blunted blades in an iron like grip. "Rhaego you should not toy with your sister so, and Visenya you should not charge in like a bull the moment your brother provokes you. That was exactly what he wanted you to do." Their elder brother looked at the twins both in turn with such a look of disapproval on his normally calm face that Rhaego had the grace to feel guilty. His eyes met his Visenya's and they both understood.

Abandoning their swords the two of them rushed their elder brother, tackling him to the ground. But if Rhaegar was angry they could not tell, for laughter was all that escaped his lips as his brother and sister proceeded to punch and pummel him with their fists playfully.

"Oh so you want to wake the dragon do you?!" he said amidst his laughter, laughter that filled the courtyard. "Then fear his wrath!”                                                                                                                 

Rhaego and Visenya's laughter joined their brothers as he began to tickle them. The three Targaryen children rolled around the courtyard floor, dust collecting on their once clean clothes as their laughter filled the Red Keep's halls around them. The dirt and dust did not matter nor Jon Connington standing there chuckling. All that they cared about was each other, and who was going to win the tickle war.


	2. The Captain Apprentice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A boy set to lead one day meets a stranger who has no answers.

The hooded man had not spoken in days. Kym had not heard him speak at all since bargaining with Captain Quorox to give him passage across The Narrow Sea. From what Kym had heard while he busied himself on the deck, the man was from Westeros and came from a high born family. Quorox had been hesitant to accept, with the sudden fall and rise of the Kings on the Iron Throne there had been plenty of lordless knights and even wanted men trying to escape from the hands of Robert Baratheon. The captains’ tone had changed though when the hooded man had pushed a large bag of silver into his hands. The passage was just for the man himself, he had no baggage barring a long wrapped bundle which Kym instantly knew concealed a sword. _Some highborn knight_ , Kym had thought at the time with excitement.

Kym River's was a bastard from The Riverlands, his mother had been a petty merchant working at a fish stall out of White Harbour. He had never known his father, but his mother had sat by his bed when he was a child and told him stories of the great knight who had promised to take her away with him when he returned. But that was when the war had just begun, and the knight had never returned.

Kym's mother would have him believe he had died in some big battle. Yet as the years went by and Kym grew to learn more about men, he was almost certain his father had been nobody and at best a hedge knight with a gift for storytelling, a simple man who had just wanted a night of pleasure. Despite all of this Kym dreamed that one day he would be a knight himself, so while his mother worked Kym would run around the market with his stick play fighting or pretending to battle with the other gutter rats. On his ninth name day he had asked for a sword, and told his mother his dreams. She had not been impressed, she beat him with his toy sword and crushed him dreams, telling him he was a fool to dream such things. That had not discouraged him though.

 Although soon enough he had learnt that he would never be a knight as he was naught but a fish merchant’s son and although he loved his Mother well he knew she could never give him the life he ached for.

Soon after his tenth name day a man had come to White Harbour looking for boys to work on his ship. Sea travel had never really appealed to Kym but as he thought on it he decided that if he could not be a knight, perhaps he could travel the world and meet them. Despite his Mother’s distraught reaction Kym told her he was leaving to work on a ship, The Golden Koi, and that he would not be back for many years. She had cried at first, wailing that Kym was all that she had in this world. His mother was a kind woman. Kym supposed was comely enough too when she wasn’t covered in fish guts or eel slime, but his Mother was very protective of her him and this had made her seem a cold woman until he had realized that her actions were out of love, not disdain towards her bastard son. Kym had heard a number of the male merchants talk about his mother in rather inappropriate ways, one going to far as to say "nah, I don’t mind the slime, will make it all the easier when I bend her over and fuck her on that stall she loves so much."

Such talk made him angry and Kym would have loved nothing more than to draw a sword and gut them all down for speaking for ill of her. But he had to remember he was not a knight and he did not own a sword. He was not so stupid as to try and fight them with his fists, he was only a boy and they would surely kill him without a thought for his poor mother. So Kym had bit his tongue and promised himself that he would come back one day, a captain of his own ship, and rescue his mother from the barbarians she was forced to suffer.

On the day he left his mother pleaded with him to stay, no matter what he said could not abide her fears of him never returning, nor her tears. But he had already signed the contract and he was to work on The Golden Koi for a minimum of six years, once you signed the only way out was death.

That had been almost a lifetime ago, or so it felt to Kym. He had quickly showed promise compared to the other boys who had signed up. He was the first to wake each day, and even in the evenings instead of sleeping down in the cargo hold Kym would rather sit up with some of the seasoned sailors, listening to their stories. Within the first few weeks of his new life Kym fell in love with the sea, his Mother’s tears far behind him. Some days before sunrise he would creep up on deck while the rest of the crew slept, climb the foremast and looked out into the horizon at the sunrise. It was here that one morning he heard a cough behind him, turning he saw that he had been discovered by none other than the captain.

Quorox Ironclad was a man of at least fifty years, and he claimed that almost all of them had been spent on the sea. His hair was black as tar but had begun to grey at the roots, his beard long and unkempt reaching down over his large belly. His skin was dry and windburn, but despite all this his eyes still shone in the morning light. "Tis a beautiful sight aye boy?" the captain had said. Even now Kym could still remember those first words he had spoken to him, and the way his eyes had seemed to sweep over the sea.

From then on he met the captain there most mornings, and slowly more words were spoken, till soon he and the captain were friends. One night as Kym sat next to a Dornishmen by the name of Grelock. Kym was listening to his tales about his home city of Sunspear when one of the other boys he was somewhat friendly with tapped him on the shoulder and stated the captain wished to see him in his cabin. At first Kym thought he was in trouble, the boys were not supposed to bother the other sailors, especially after dark. But when he entered Quorox's cabin, marvelling at the maps and charts scattered across the room, the captain slapped a flagon of what he presumed to be wine on the desk in front of him, he then motioned for Kym to sit down opposite him.

The two had then sat up until the early hours of the morning drinking, Kym mostly listened, only drinking to toast with Quorox to someone or someplace he had never heard of. With his head pounding and the deck seeming to rock beneath his feet more than usual, Kym and his captain stumbled out into the morning sun to their regular spot. It was there that Captain Quorox had asked him to be his apprentice, and hoped that one day he would take over for him as captain of The Golden Koi when the Moon-Pale Maiden finally came to claim Quorox down to her watery halls.

That was pretty much the life story of Kym Rivers. All of this as well as the many journeys he had attempted to tell the hooded man. But the man never spoke, the only sign being that he was still awake was when he took a drink or refilled his cup. Drinking seemed to be the only thing the hooded man did. His small cabin (which had previously been a storeroom) was littered with wine skins and empty flagons. The food that Kym brought to him regularly was mostly left untouched save for some bread or salted beef every few days, and almost every day whatever food the man had eaten was thrown back up. So when Kym brought down the hooded man’s food and wine he would often sit and talk. Him doing all the talking, and when he finally gave up or the man turned away to sleep, Kym would say his farewells and take the vomit filled bucket away.

Until one day when Kym took the evening meal down to the silent stranger, the man was not laying slumped in a pile of furs as he usually was, but Kym found him sitting up, with the wrapped up bundle in his lap. The meal was nothing special, it was nearing to the end of their journey so all that was left was salted pork, mutton, or fish. _Perhaps the man had finally sobered up enough to be hungry_ Kym thought as he lay the plate down on the floor in front of the hooded figures makeshift bed.

As Kym walked over to his usual seat against the wall he saw a flash of silver in the corner of his eye. Knowing sailors as Kym did he instantly thought it was a knife, that his constant badgering of the man had pushed him to too far. Bracing himself for incoming blade Kym went stiff, praying to whatever gods he could remember to save him. The seconds dragged on, and still no pain came. Then the sound of a blade on a whetstone. Slowly turning himself around, still bracing for some sort of attack, Kym saw the hooded figure had not moved. Instead he had removed the wrappings of his bundle, and was now sharpening the most beautiful sword Kym had ever seen, with the slow and deliberate strokes of a whetstone. The blade was nothing like the cutlasses the sailors had stashed in case of pirates, the metal seemed to shine bright, and all along the blade there appeared to be a black colouring. The blade seemed almost alive, like the waves of the sea surrounding them.

Kym stood there speechless for what seemed an eternity, just watching. It was then that the hooded man's head seemed to move to look at Kym. It was only for a moment, before the man went back to his work. Sweat had begun to seep through Kym's clothing. The fabric was thin, designed to be light and easy to move in. It was hot and hard work working on The Golden Koi, but tonight it was quite cool. Kym could not understand why he was suddenly covered in sweat and suppressing the urge to quiver with fear. _This man is dangerous_ , he thought. Perhaps it was the way the man moved his pale hand along the blade, while other men might rush this process, the hooded man took his time, the noise ever continuing. Reaching down into the pits of his stomach Kym somehow found the courage to speak.

"Does it have a name?" he said. Instantly he regretted those words. The man's hand was halfway along the blade before it stopped at Kym's question. Seconds that felt like hours seemed to pass. The hooded man never moved, his hand still resting in the centre of his sword. A cold chill began to shiver down Kym's spine, the tense stillness in the room became almost choking to him, and a deep anger seemed to radiate from the hooded figure as he sat there motionless. Praying this his gods once again Kym decided it was best for him to leave. Slowly he drew himself up from his seat, he was halfway across the room when he heard a voice.

"No", said the hooded man, "but it once did". The voice held no emotion, if Kym could describe the voice of a dead man, it would have been the voice that now echoed through his mind.

Pinned in place by fear Kym did not know what to do, he had never struggled to speak to the man before, but the way he spoke seemed to increase Kym's fear even more. The man was highborn, there was no mistaking that. His voice was deep and rich with an odd elegance that came from books and words Kym would never red. From the man’s tone Kym guessed he was not yet a man full grown. Perhaps a few years older than himself, yet while other men Kym knew spoke with excitement, drunken anger or even sadness, this man’s voice held no such thing. What has happened to him to cause this? Kym wondered, but he dare not ask the man, he had no doubt that if he did that sword would run red with his blood. As Kym pondered whether to run or fall to his knees, the man spoke again; "What is the matter boy? Have you never seen Valyrian steel?" he said.

***

When Kym returned to his quarters besides the captains he found his thoughts wander to everything that had just been revealed by his brief conversation with the hooded man. The few words that he had finally been able to coax from the man haunted his thoughts and they had left Kym with more questions than ever before.

Kym wondered if the man had indeed fallen asleep as his head had slumped forward, the wine in his overturned cup spilling into his lap; or had the man just grown weary of Kym's company. The thought lingered in his mind as he lay his head down to sleep on his hard pallet. No sooner has his head touched the straw filled pillows did he get his answer. A terrifying cry filled the boys’ ears and echoed through the storeroom below. The hooded man’s cabin.

Captain Quorox was passed out again, too drunk to hear anything other than his own snores; but Kym heard it and the sound sent chills down his spine. It happened each night when the hooded man would go to rest. Whatever night terrors plagued his dreams must have been excruciating.

The shouts and cries of fear that filled the ship each night often made Kym himself afraid, never had he heard such tormented sounds of pain before. _What has happened to him_ Kym thought as he lay there listening each night. Yet he doubted her would ever get an answer. Even now that the man had finally spoken, Kym did not dare ask him for fear of what he might do.

As the boy turned over and squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to sleep and soon felt himself drifting off. The screams of agony that filled his ears now more familiar to him than his mother’s great tales of his fabled father.


	3. The Exiled Prince. Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haunted by his memories Rhaego re-visits Kings Landing.

Once the door had shut behind the boy Rhaego Targaryen brushed the wine off his lap. He had not fallen asleep, but the boy had begun to ask too many questions of wounds that had not healed yet. That is, if they ever would. So the Prince had feigned sleep so that the boy would leave, which he had done so almost immediately.

Dark Sister lay at his side, once again concealed in her tattered green cloak. _We are both not used to travelling this way, I am sorry,_ he thought to himself mournfully with his hand resting on the bundle, willing the sword to hear him, to _understand_. Apart from the blade he had brought nothing of value save for a few bags of coins. These he had offered to the Captain, he had been hesitant to accept Rhaego’s offer, due to the sudden rebellion and fall of Kings Landing _you’re not a wanted man, are you?_ The Captain had asked. Rhaego had not needed to be reminded of the war, let alone who he was so he had just bribed the man with more coins. Now he had only a handful of golden dragons remaining. The impulse to threaten the man had initially crossed his mind, but with a ship full of men willing to fight for their captain, it would have not been a wise decision. One man with a cutlass would have been no problem for Rhaego, even three or four. The sailors tended to fight together, and even a Master Swordsmen can only hold out so long when outnumbered. Rhaego had heard what had happened to Arthur Dayne and the man was a legend, even among those who knew him. _If he could fall to the likes of Eddard Stark, who am I to test my fate against the scum of this vessel?_ He had thought to himself bitterly as he handed over more coins to the Captain who called himself Quorox.

So Rhaego had paid the Captain his coin (albeit hesitantly) and was shown to his quarters, which he soon found was barely passable as a cabin. It was a small room with four walls and no windows and there was little more than a small cot with a pile of musty furs in one corner. _It is not as grand as my bed in the –_ Rhaego had cut the thought short and tried to push Kings Landing from his mind. Instead he focused himself on the other corners of the room, which he found were packed with crates. This did little more than confirm Rhaego's thoughts that his "cabin" had been a storeroom before he came on board. But he didn’t care, the furs were warm and a number of the crates contained flagons of wine. This was good enough for him and all the better to forget the place that he had come from. Captain Quorox had mentioned that Rhaego was welcome to help himself to as much wine as pleased and that is what the Prince had done, sat and drank, willing away the hours in a way he never would have in his previous life. _I have nobody to blame but myself_ he thought painfully, willing the images of blood and fire out of his mind. Rhaego found that the wine was the only solace throughout the journey; whether he be asleep or awake he was haunted by memories, faces and words he had never had need to recall before. Sometimes, to ease his storming mind he would take _Dark Sister_ out and sharpen her blade, the process was soothing to him. However, a sword can only be sharpened so much, so many times and the rest of the journey Rhaego found himself alone with the thoughts of tried so hard to repress, once again they came knocking on his mental door and every time he allowed them entrance… So he drank to dull them. When he finally passed out after drowning his sorrows, he still found no peace, no silence. For every time he had slept since leaving Kings Landing, Rhaego had been plagued by night terrors and when he finally awoke it was always to his own screaming, covered in sweat and reaching for his sister’s sword.

Rhaego couldn’t explain why he had finally answered the boys’ attempts at conversation. Perhaps it was just to shut him up. As he gazed into his wine cup recalling the boys terrified face the Prince soon began to feel his head slump forward and knew he had to sleep. Wrapping himself tightly in his wine stained cloak he shifted some furs for a blanket and pillow and laid down to prepare himself for another night of torture. The moment he closed his eyes, the darkness consumed him.

 _When Rhaego’s eyes opened he found himself in a familiar room_ my room _his thoughts told him softly. His four poster bed surrounded him once again, but this time it was different. Visenya's spot in the bed was empty, and as he ran his left hand over the space he found the sheet cold._ She has been gone some time then, _Rhaego thought, raising himself to an elbow he saw her clothes still slung across the room, having been ripped off in their passion, this at least made the corner of the Prince’s mouth tug in mirth. But it was strange for her to leave them behind to be found by a servant in the morning, a servant that would no doubt report back to their Mother._ Where would she have run off to, to have left them behind with such haste _? Rhaego frowned and climbed from his bed, once he stood he found himself gazing into a mirror that stood across from the end of his bed. Beneath it all manner of Visenya’s things had been left behind, from her comb to the hair net she had worn to the previous night’s meal with their brothers’ wife and children._

 _At seventeen years Rhaego was tall, his silver hair kept long and his body was hardened with muscle. He wore nothing but the loose cotton pants that he favoured to sleep in. Kings Landing was too hot for the shifts he had worn as a boy. As he gazed at his reflection, the moon illuminated his exposed torso. Strict training had seen him build mostly muscle and his shoulders had broadened since he had grown into manhood. Standing there, Rhaego wondered if his sister would soon return and considered summoning a servant to find her. But it was still the early hours of the morning and save for a few guards, the Red Keep slept._ It makes no matter, she will return before the castle wakes _, Rhaego thought as he turned back towards his bed, the blankets askew from their play made the corners of his mouth tug upwards again and he wondered if she would be back in time for another round of their lovemaking. It was as that thought took root that he heard it._

_A single high pitched scream._

_As soon as he was out his door and running along the corridors, his breaths coming quickly to him as fear began to take hold in his body. His bedroom was set in one corner of the Red Keep, so following the corridor he had only one way to go. When he the end he did not know where to go, left or right. Towards their Father or their brothers wife_ what of the children? _Rhaego wondered as the silence enveloped him,_ perhaps they are playing a trick _he tried to comfort himself, it would not be the first time Visenya had taken her pleasures in tormenting him. A second sound echoed through the empty corridor to his right, the unfamiliar war cries of numerous soldiers._ Something is very wrong _, Rhaego thought to himself, agitated as he again wondered which way to go. Sweat was now beginning to build in his palms and cover his back. He made to go right, towards the soldiers, but then he heard it again. The scream. Visenya's. Without so much as another thought to the mystery soldiers he ran left, his bare feet pounding on the marble floors, echoing his desperate race to find the source of his sisters pain. Rhaego was still running when he heard her scream again, but this one different from before, like a defeated cry. The Nursery. Growing up in the Red Keep he had a feel for the castle and by the third scream he knew where to go. Never before had he run so fast in his life. Corridor after corridor seemed to stretch on and on before he finally came to the main staircase that led to the nursery where the little Prince and Princess slept._

_It was then that he saw the blood._

_It had pooled by the entrance, coming to rest in a puddle before Rhaego’s feet. Fear like he had never felt before flooded The Prince’s body. As he lifted his leg to begin his walk into the darkened room, he saw it shake and shudder, but still he stepped into the blood. He dare not move with haste, otherwise he might slip, and Rhaego doubted if his body would even allow him to move any faster. With each step he took the blood grew thicker, sticking to the soles of his feet and making every oncoming step more unsteady than the last. Inside the nursery somebody had blown the torches out, but one still wavered in the wind weakly. It was in that single light that he saw the illuminated shape of a body. When his eyes had adjusted to the dim light he saw that it was a woman, her gown and dark hair soaked with blood as she lay on her side. It’s not Visenya, Rhaego thought with an unsteady breath, and for a moment he felt his breath begin to calm. However, when he walked further forwards he saw that body belonged to Elia Martell, Rhaegar's wife. Instantly he was on his knees and by the Princesses side. Her life blood soaking through his clothing. As his hands moved to check her body for signs of life, he saw that she held the body of a baby in her arms, its head a ruin of blood and bone_. Aegon _. Even in death Elia still clung to her son's body, her arms wrapped around it protectively despite the obvious pains it had caused her. Rhaego’s eyes swept over his good-sisters body cautiously, his stomach turning to bile as he saw what had been done to her once beautiful yet frail body. Rhaegar would avenge this, surely... The fear he had initially felt had spread over the Prince’s entire body, bringing him an odd type of calm. It was then he heard a voice._

_"Rhaego" The voice whispered, soft gentle words that floated like the notes his brother had played for him when he sparred or read or wrote to their Uncle in the Night’s watch. The voice was so familiar to him that Rhaego wished that it had indeed not spoken, that the room had remained silent to the terrors within. Turning his head to the right he saw another body, as he knew he would. However this body did not lay, it slumped against one of the childrens cots and stared across at him with eyes that appeared black as night beneath a pool of silver hair. In one swift movement he was by her side, Elia's body forgotten. Raising her head to see him better Visenya Targaryen smiled. "Your alive...” she said, her voice barely audible, "I had begun to worry they had got to you in your sleep."_

_Rhaego couldn’t speak. It seemed like all the air had left his lungs along with his words. His eyes swept his sisters body. Her hair was matted with blood and he had scratches on her cheeks that wept tears of red. As Rhaego's gaze moved down her body he saw that his sister wore one of his tunics over the small clothes she had slept in. An image that once would have caused him to smile, but both were soaked with blood and spoke only of death. A large gash in the Princesses side had torn through the fabrics but in her right hand she still held her sword, Dark Sister. Its blade ran thick with blood and right there beside her, curled in her left arm was the body of a small girl with silver hair._

_"Rhaenys" Rhaego said, finally finding his words._

_"She clung to me as she died. That monster killed Elia and Aegon, I was not here to save them brother.” Rhaego watched as shiny clear tears mixed with the blood on her face before falling to her chin. “I saw go for Rhaenys before I could stop him" Visenya's added, her voice seemed breathless, as though she had just bested a squire and needed to catch her breath. “I had hoped that she would live, at least” Rhaego felt his throat close over at the sadness in her voice, at the way his sisters eyes flicked to their brothers eldest child._ She has always loved Rhaenys well _Rhaego thought sadly as he brushed the little girls hair from her forehead to reveal her peaceful still face, as though she were naught but sleeping._

_Visenya’s lifted her free hand to rest on Rhaego’s face and she studied it for could have only have been a moment, but seemed to stretch on for minutes, hours. She then inclined her head towards Elia and as Rhaego moved to follow her gaze he saw the man who had wrought such destruction. Even as he lay on the ground motionless, Ser Gregor Clegane was a giant of a man._

_"I managed to kill him, but I wasn't quick enough to save her, to save any of them. Not even myself. I lost it when he stabbed Rhaenys, Rhaego” Visenya’s voice pleaded for him to understand. “She was just a little girl” desperation clung to her every word as they escaped her. “The monster didn’t even hesitate to swing his sword at me as he turned around. I tried to move, I escaped the worst of it, although I suppose you wouldn’t think so, would you?" Even in death Visenya managed a mocking smile as her hand fell to Rhaego’s shoulder weakly. “I need to rest now, I can hear Rhaenys asking about Balerion, but I can’t see the old tomcat, he must have run away.” Rhaego frowned at his sisters words._

_"Visenya what do you…” was all Rhaego could manage, his hands moving to hold his sisters face, his thumb running circles over her cheek to remove the tears that had stuck there. Panic began to grip him as he felt how cold her body was._

_"You've got to go Rhaego, they want us all dead. I don't know where father is. When I heard people march past our room I came here hoping to find him, but all I found was… this.” Visenya wet her lips and her breathing began to shake. “Rhaego, you have to go now.”_

_"I am not leaving you Visenya. I will go and find someone, a maester, he will see to your wounds. I...” his words becoming frantic as his sister began to cough, she lifted a shaking hand to her mouth but when she drew it away it was covered in blood. When she looked back at him, mouth open in shock Rhaego found he could not take his eyes from her blood colored teeth, the way her lips shone with death._

_"There is no time Rhaego. You've got to go, before more soldiers come, they will find you and kill you.” Her words were becoming weaker as she continued. “I can’t play with you anymore, brother.” When he frowned Visenya gave him another sad smile. “They will kill you, what Father did to the Starks will seem merciful. They blame us, blame our blood and our… love for what Father has done. Mother warned me… she tried…” Visenya fell silent and Rhaego felt his stomach churn,_

_"Visenya!” He shook her shoulder and she looked at him curiously before leaning her head back against the cot._

_“I need you to do something for me, I need you to promise me… promise” she shut her eyes as a wave of agony wretched through her body._

_“Anything,” Rhaego said, eager to keep her talking. He brushed her hair from her eyes and tucked it behind her ears as he waited for her to speak, their eyes never leaving one anothers._

_“Leave,” when she saw him go to protest she began to speak in Valyrian, a tongue they had only used when discussing secrets around the court folk of the Red Keep. “Leave Kings Landing, brother.” The words seemed to come easier to the Princess when spoken in their Mother tongue. “Travel, I do not care where to as long as it is not here. Don’t trust them, brother.” Rhaego frowned at her but did not have time to ask what she meant as another wave of coughing overtook his sisters body._

_"Visenya...” Rhaego replied in Valyrian, his voice trembled as tears began to well in his eyes. "I love you."_

_"I know you do, and I love you brother, always. The light may leave my body, but my fire will always live on inside you. You and I are the same. I will always be with you. Always." Her final smile graced him then and Rhaego found himself drawn to her, his lips touched hers gently as her last breath escaped her broken body and when he drew away he felt her blood resting on his mouth. As he leant back he took in the final resting place of his sister, his betrothed and the woman he had loved since their eyes had first met as children. In her arms she still held their niece tightly, her hands protectively holding onto the dead toddler. Tears ran freely down his face now, and his body shook with sobs. But as he stood he put those feelings aside and bent to pick up Dark Sister._

I will come back for you _he promised Visenya. Taking one last look at the broken body of his dearest friend Rhaego Targaryen turned away, his eyes set on path he now saw clearly paved before him._

_When the Prince arrived at the Throne Room doors he found them askew and unguarded. Slowly he walked towards the door, his feet leaving bloody footprints where he walked. Blood seemed too covered nearly every inch of his body, but he did not care. Dark Sister felt good in his right hand, her weight reassuring, helping him to compose himself. As he pushed the great doors open light flooded his vision, momentarily blinding him. Blinking to adjust his sight Rhaego saw that all the torches along the throne room walls had been lit. At the foot of the Iron Throne two large bonfires burnt brightest of all, and between them, lay the body of King Aery's Targaryen. Rhaego's father’s eyes were still open, looking towards him, but they held no life. The Prince wasn't surprised to feel nothing but emptiness at the sight of his dead father, nothing else mattered anymore. All Rhaego could feel was a deep rage in the pits of his body._

_Looking past his father’s corpse Rhaego saw the killer. There sat in the Iron Throne his ancestors had built, was Ser Jaime Lannister. A smug smile set across his face._

_"A bit late for the party aren't you?" he called to Rhaego. In his lap sat his golden sword, its length red with what could only be Aery's blood. Rhaego ignored him and continued to slowly walk forward, almost dragging Dark Sister along the marble floor as it hung in his right hand. When he reached his father’s body and looked up to his killer, the smile on Jamie Lannisters face vanished._

_"So, Clegane finished them off did he? Shame, that Visenya sure was a...”_

_"Don't you dare mention my sisters name" Rhaego growled, his voice quiet but with a malice it had never held before._

_"Well then." Jaime huffed as he rose to his feet., "I suppose you'll be wanting to fight me now" As he walked down the steps of the Iron Throne, the Lannister’s stride spoke nothing but arrogance. He walked past Aery's body and Rhaego followed until the two reached the center of the room._

_"No." Rhaego said, his voice low but was almost like a roar. "I am going to kill you Kingslayer. For my family, for my sister, and all the others the Lannisters have no doubt killed tonight."_

_"Kingslayer? Yes, I suppose that is what they will call me now. Oh well. I've killed one dragon tonight, if people are going to tell tales of me, I had better make it two." They walked in a circle, neither one wanting to make the first move. The torchlight reflected in Jaime’s golden armor, the blood on his sword glistening. The smirk never leaving his face. Rhaego just stared back with a cold expression set on his face he felt nothing but hatred in that. He did not care if he died tonight, as long as in some way he got vengeance for his brother’s wife, for Elia and the children… For his sister. But he couldn’t think about her, not now, he just focused on the anger, it kept the sadness and tears away._

_"You know, I would have told that giant not to kill her. Your sister I mean. My father no doubt told him we couldn't let any of you live tonight, but I was going to leave her till last. Alas, the stupid bitch fought back. It is a shame though, if she had to die, I had hoped to give her one last fuck"_

_"RAAAAAAAAAHH!" Rhaego roared as he ran forward blind with rage, raising Dark Sister in his hands above his head. All his life he had been taught to never strike first. To be patient, calm. Wait and plan your attack based on how the opponent acts, one of his teachers had told him. But none of that matter now. All those years, they were meaningless to Rhaego now. All that mattered, was killing Jaime Lannister._

_The Kingslayer’s face changed as Rhaego charged, bringing his sword down at him. Jamie brought his own sword up to block the attack but Rhaego just pushed against their blades as hard as he could, knocking Jamie backwards. Rhaego continued his pursuit, arcing his blade down to slash left and right, each blow fueled by his anger. Jaime only raising his sword to defend under the onslaught of Rhaego's blows. The force of the swords colliding sent echoes through the throne room, the sound bouncing off the walls like some great drum. There was no technique to Rhaego's movements, all he wanted was to kill this man, and any other Lannisters he could take down before he died. As he brought Dark Sister down again with all his force, Jamie moved his own sword to parry the blow, moving to the side as he did so. Rhaego's momentum carried him forward stumbling as The Kingslayer darted out of sight to his right, then Rhaego felt pain in his right leg as Jamie slashed across the back of his thigh. Falling to one knee Rhaego put out his left hand to stop himself from falling forward, then used his sword to steady himself. He could feel blood seeping down his leg from the wound. Another blow then, across his back. Arching his back in agony, he resisted the urge to fall to his knees. Blood ran thick down his sweat covered back, but no sound of pain escaped his lips. He would not show weakness._

_"You fight like a madman" mocked Jamie. "Fitting though, being the Mad Kings son."_

_"I am nothing like my father" Rhaego said through his clenched teeth, fighting back the pain._

_"Well you sure are defiant. All your Father did when I ran him through was repeat the same damn words._ Burn them all _he said, I suppose it must be a Targaryen thing." Pushing himself to his feet Rhaego fought back tears as the pain in his leg and back seared through his body and sent shudders through him that felt more like ice than the fire he felt in his blood._

 _"You Targaryen’s just don’t know when to stay down!" Jaime barked, advancing this time. As their blades collided the two were face to face. Rhaego covered in his sister’s blood, his hair plastered to his face by sweat and dried tears. Jaime with his golden hair and armor shining in the torchlight, and the white cloak draped across his shoulders._ A lie _Rhaego growled inwardly. The Prince stared into Jaime's eyes, seeing nothing but arrogance; and with their eyes and swords locked together Rhaego forced Jamie back again with all his strength. As Jaime stepped back Rhaego dared forward, slashing across his abdomen, and the Valyrian steel sliced through the armor. Shocked Jaime’s eyes flashed down, and in that moment Rhaego charge forward with his shoulder, knocking the Kingslayer off his feet and slamming him into the Iron Throne. Rhaego watched with satisfaction as Jaime cried out in his own agony as the many blades of the Throne scraped and cut into his perfect golden armor. With his heavy armor the Kingslayer could do nothing to stop himself from falling onto the ground and colliding heavily with the polished marble of the Throne Room floor. Rhaego saw the sword fall from Jaime’s grasp and whilst the Kingslayer lay on the floor beneath the throne, seemingly trying to catch his breath, Rhaego brought the tip of Dark Sister up under Jamie's chin. Yet before he could plunge it forward, there was a sudden clamor of swords and armor and the sound of men’s footsteps. Looking back towards the Throne Rooms doors Rhaego saw that he was surrounded by red. Lannister soldiers, with no way out he looked back to Jaime and wondered if the Lannister felt as ready to die as he did. A cold voice interrupted the Prince’s thoughts and echoed through the throne room with one short sentence:_

_"Enough of this boy, all is lost." Without moving his sword Rhaego turned to see Tywin Lannister stalk towards him from between his troops, dressed in his own crimson armor and flanked by more soldiers. His face showed no emotion other than a scowl. Rhaego watched as the man stepped over his Father’s body and wondered why Aerys had ever saw fit to assign such a devil to position of hand of the King. Tywin paused not ten paces from the Lannister heir and the Dragon prince and watched him with cruel calculating eyes._

_"Stay back Lannister, one more move and your son dies" said Rhaego, pushing the tip of Dark Sister deeper into Jaime’s throat, causing a choking sound to escape the Lannister boys lips._

_Tywin stopped dead then, his eyes flickered to his son just for a moment before returning to stare at Rhaego. "Don't be a fool" Tywin said, his voice filling with subtle anger. "Lower your sword Rhaego, we can speak about this as men. No more blood needs to be spilt tonight"_

He is afraid _, Rhaego thought in amusement,_ the Lion of Casterly Rock does feel fear after all _. Staring back into those cold eyes Rhaego could see it now, he had learned from a young age that no matter how a man looked or spoke of himself, his eyes always told the truth of his heart, his intentions. For the first time in his life Rhaego saw fear in Tywin Lannisters eyes. Looking back to Jaime at his feet, his blood now trickling freely down the side of his pale neck, the Dragon Prince saw that the Kingslayer too showed fear._ How sweet it would be _, Rhaego thought amusingly to himself,_ how sweet it would be to take his golden son away from him, as he has taken so much from me _. For an instant his hand tensed, ready to plunge it deep into Jaime’s neck. The Kingslayer felt it too, and all of his arrogance shattered. Sweat appeared on his brow, his breathing began to quicken and his green eyes shifted back and forth, from Rhaego's face to Dark Sister. A part of Rhaego's mind was screaming for him to do it, and the voice sounded strangely like his fathers. But Tywin’s voice filled his ears, and drove the madness back._

_"I have news from the Trident.” Tywin began slowly. “Robert Baratheon himself met your brother there, and the two fought." his voice still a cold edge despite the fear that lingered in his eyes._ _Thoughts of his brother flooded Rhaego mind. He knew he should feel worry or apprehension for his brother, but after losing Visenya, no emotion came to him; despite this words formed in his mouth and he spoke:_

_"What of my brother" he asked plainly, as if he had just asked about the weather._ Nothing matters anymore anyway, Rhaegar could be halfway to me and he would still be too late _he thought._

_"Prince Rhaegar is dead. Robert Baratheon rides for Kings Landing as we speak, and he has had a thirst for Targaryen blood, it would seem."_

_Despite the numbness Rhaego felt in his body, the words still stung._ Rhaegar is gone _, he sighed inwardly._ Father, even Visenya _Rhaego felt his gut wrench at the thought of his sister._ Why shouldn’t I die tonight as well? I can kill Jaime and rush at Tywin, if I am fast enough maybe I can reach him before his men kill me _. Almost in response to Rhaego's thoughts Tywin stepped forward and spoke again._

_"If you wish to die here tonight you need only press that sword a little deeper. With Valyrian steel it doesn't take much. I can have more sons, and while I hold them in my arms, maggots will feast on your corpse. It does not have to be that way though. Robert wants your head, but if you lower your sword you may leave Kings Landing alive and I will allow you to join The Nights Watch. Robert will be satisfied with that I promise. Spare my son’s life and you shall keep yours."_

_Rhaego had never been to The Wall, his Father had never allowed him to travel that far North._ North is for the Wolves and idiots who like the cold _Aerys had said when Rhaego was but a boy. He knew his great uncle Aemon was there as a Maester as both he and Visenya had both received letters from Aemon over the years, mainly on their name days. But The Wall was a long way away, and how could the word of Tywin Lannister be believed. Visenya's words echoed through his mind._ Don’t trust them _._

 _Drawing back his sister’s sword Rhaego readied himself to deliver the killing blow. The sound of swords being drawn echoed through the throne room and in the corner of his eye Rhaego saw the soldiers advance a step. Why shouldn’t I do? He thought to himself, he could even feel the thirst Dark Sister had for Lannister blood, or was that his own? All of a sudden he was there with Visenya once more, her lips lingering on his mouth and her final smile stamped in his memory._ Promise me _she had said, and he had agreed._

_Dark Sister clattered to the ground then, and the Dragon Prince soon followed. Rhaego sank to his knees in defeat. He heard the men around him move to close in on him, but he could bring himself to even raise his head. Dark Sister lay before him, her tip covered in Lannister blood, but the blood of Rhaego's sister still clung to the swords hilt. He fell forward then, laying his hands on the sword while tears filled his eyes. Emotion flooded his body then, the numb he had felt before began to fade. Pain, sadness, loss, loneliness, and love. It all formed into one and as it spread through his body Rhaego Targaryen couldn't take it. His hands rolled into fists, he sank back onto his knees and his head flung back as he roared like the dragons of old. As his screams filled the throne room Rhaego wished it was fire that escaped his lips rather than cries. He willed everything he felt to leave his body as if it were a blazing inferno, so that he could kill the men around him, and so he would have to suffer the agony no longer._

Even as he eyes flashed open the pain and agony continued, and with it so did Rhaego's cries. His sweat covered and his hands shook as he reached for Dark Sister. Grabbing the sword in both of his hands he cradled it close to his body as if it were a child. He rolled over and hugged the last thing he had of his sister as the image of her face left his mind. Rocking back and forth his cries of agony soon turned to cries of sadness and loss. The tears rolled down his face, but no matter how hard he held his sisters sword, she was still gone and all that remained was pain. 


	4. The Exiled Prince. Pt 2

A crescent moon hung low above a lone galleon as it journeyed across The Narrow Sea. The world above the ocean was filled with vibrant stars surrounded by the deepest depths of night. From the east a strong wind blew and filled the sails as The Golden Koi headed for The Free Cities. Upon the foremast a lone man gazed toward the east, yet his mind still lingered on the west.

Despite the wind the air was still humid, and when the man licked his lips he could taste the salt of the sea. Beneath his feet the crew slept on, their snores along with the waves of the ocean were the only sounds in the stillness of the night. Morning would be arrive soon, and with it the sun would rise and give life to the world once again. However no light could shine bright enough to awaken life inside of Rhaego Targaryen, first of his name. He may have left Kings Landing alive, but on that night everything the Prince had once loved had died and with it so had a part of him. Gripping the railing his frustration flared; _what am I doing? What is there for me in the east?_ His pale hands grew white with the force of his grip, pain rushed through his fingers as his nails began to dig into his palms. _I should have killed him. I should have died there with her. At least that way we could be together._ But the memory of Visenya Targaryens words was ever present in the back of Rhaego's mind. _Live_. She had said. _But live for what?_

A sudden footstep snapped his mind back to the present. Turning, Rhaego saw a single figure standing a few feet behind him. Withdrawing his hands from the rail he turned himself to face the stranger, but as Rhaego's eyes adjusted he saw that it was only Kym, the captains’ apprentice. From the way he stood the boy was obviously still afraid him. His arms hung limp by his sides, and he did not meet Rhaego’s gaze, preferring to keep his head slumped forward and only stealing glances at the Prince; or more so his clothes and hands.

Growing up Rhaego Targaryen had known many people to be afraid of him, but if they had feared the Prince himself or merely his family name, he could not say; and always it had been a respectful fear that lingered on the borderline of admiration. Unlike his sister Rhaego had not found himself preying on the weakness in others, he preferred to be kind to the people beneath him, much like his brother. That was not to say he did not know he was superior to them. After all he was a Targaryen, and a prince of Westeros, citizens were to kneel before him. As a child he had once stopped Visenya from beating a boy with a stern expression plastered on her young face; they could not have been more than ten and two. It had been one of the few times the twins had differed on something. His sister had been whipping the boy with her riding cane, yelling at him to be silent as she did so. When Rhaego grabbed the cane from her hand he saw anger flare in his sister’s eyes he had been surprised; Visenya had never looked at him that way before. However, before she could protest Rhaego had slapped the boy himself, using the back of his hand over the cane and sending him spiraling to the ground in a miserable heap.

"If you are going to torment your prey why not put him out of his misery?"

“Because he has not yet learnt his lesson” Visenya had replied, narrowing her eyes.

“What has he done to harm you? Did he tread on your skirts?” Rhaego had teased back at her, they had only been children after all.

“He hit Valyrian” _what a stupid name_ one of Visenya’s ladies had whined when she had named her horse that, _it is the name of the most powerful steel there ever was, your Father would sell you just to hold such a thing_ Visenya had barked back at her, after that the girl was silent. Rhaego looked to the stable boy now, his own eyes narrowing. _Why would a boy hit a horse?_ He decided to ask the boy himself.

“I didn’t mean it” the boy cried, covering his face as he continued to cower on the ground. “The beast bit me”

“Beast!” Visenya had scoffed, but the fire had left her eyes and an odd sadness replaced it in her lilac eyes. “He is a horse” Rhaego turned his back to the boy and soon enough he found Visenya inside his arms. _My sweet sister_ he remembered thinking as he felt a slight tremble run through her. _My darling sister._

Rhaego saw the same fear in Kym's eyes as he had in that boy so long ago. After their last conversation the Prince had thought that may have helped ease the tension in the boys’ eyes. They had spoken for some time, Rhaego mostly listened as he always had before. The boy liked to talk, and had high hopes of being a captain himself one day. Kym spoke at long length about his mother, the boy even had the nerve to Rhaego about his own. Yet the Prince he ignored the question, in truth Rhaego had no idea where she had fled after the fall of Kings Landing. Had word reached Rhaella and Viserys on Dragonstone before it was too late? The prince could not say. The thought of his mother was yet another reminder of what Rhaego had lost. So once again he had tried to push the memories aside, filled his cup with more wine and let the boy continue on with yet another tale.

 "What are you still afraid of Kym? Do I frighten you so much? Or do you quiver at the sight of any man with a sword?" Rhaego asked.

Kym jumped at the Princes sudden question, his eyes flashed to him for a brief moment before once again falling to the ground. For once the boy appeared speechless, he began stuttering, struggling to find his words. With a shake of his head he began to regain his composure. 

"I have met many men with swords before, but none like you.”

"Hah. I am not sure whether to be flattered, or insulted" Rhaego replied in amusement, a faint smile hinting at the corner of his mouth. "Fear is a powerful tool. Tell me something Kym. Do you wish to lead these men one day?"

Walking to stand beside Rhaego Kym Rivers did not hesitate in his reply. He looked out to the horizon where the sun was beginning to rise and for the first time the Prince heard pride, even confidence in the boy’s voice as he spoke.

"Yes m'lord. It is my dream that I will become captain one day and journey across the oceans of the Seven Kingdoms and beyond. From Braavos to Volantis, from Tyrosh to Kings Landing, and everywhere in between. I could not realize my first childhood dream, but I shall not fail in fulfilling this one."

In another life Rhaego might have clasped the boy on the shoulder then, and told him to believe in his dreams. But the prince was no longer so foolish. He had once had his own dreams, to marry the woman he loved and raise a family, to strengthen the Targaryen name. He recalled a time that he and Visenya had dreamed of travelling to Lys to meet the beautiful women and lose themselves; as neither would have to rule. Now the only dreams Rhaego had were nightmares, and every day he hoped he was going to wake up and realize this was all just another bad dream.

Rhaego followed the boys gaze then, a faint light began to flicker in his eyes, and in the distance a large dark shape loomed, illuminated in the early morning glow.

"These men will never follow a boy, let alone a man who is are afraid. They need to be the ones to fear you." In the corner of his eye he saw Kym turn to look at him, but Rhaego's stare did not leave the distant fire as it began to rise in the sky. "You can be a kind leader, a strong leader, even a loving one but in the end some may still turn against you. Fear is a man’s greatest tool. If they fear to defy you, they will hesitate to do so. Any who do should be made example of so that the rest know what happens.” Rhaego saw Kym lean forward and leaned against the corner of the railing and felt an odd sort of familiarity towards the lad. _Viserys_ Rhaego decided after a moment. _Perhaps he would have grown to listen to my advice as I did to Rhaegar’s._ “My family is an old one, and there have been many kinds of leaders in their time. Some good and some bad. However when they held the power to destroy anyone who opposed them, and there were some who did and so met that fate, they were never more feared. That fear lead to peace, but as the years went by that power dwindled, and some tried to lead with kindness rather than using fear. Now they are all gone, and I am all that’s left. Learn from their mistakes Kym Rivers. Show your men that they should fear you as well as respect you and then they shall follow you on your journeys, even to their doom."

For moments the boy did not speak, his eyes never moved from Rhaego’s face. Finally with a swallow and a deep breath, Kym spoke;

"Who are you?" he said and the words seeming to ring out across the ocean, the world was suddenly silent.

A sudden impulse to tell this bastard boy who he was gripped Rhaego Targaryen. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to tell Kym everything, to cry, to moan, to roar in anger and pound his hands on the deck. But no one could know who he was, and in truth he was beginning to doubt if he even knew himself anymore.

"A better question is who was I?" Rhaego replied, and he turned to look at the boy, confusion filling the boy’s face.

That soon changed to fear as Rhaego drew a dagger from beneath his cloak. Kym jumped back a step, raising his open hands up in a vain attempt to protect himself. But the boy soon dropped them as Rhaego’s free hand moved to lower his hood, exposing his long silver hair. Grasping its length in his hand it almost felt heavy, but with one slice of his dagger that weight was gone. Holding the clump of silver that was one of his families’ namesakes, Rhaego Targaryen slowly opened his hand. With a single gust of wind his hair was gone, some flying through the air, the rest falling to the watery depths below.

"My name does not matter anymore, but if you wish you may call me Zan." the prince said.

"Zan? What does mean? “The boy asked.

"It means Shadow in a forgotten tongue." _For that is all I am now, a shadow of the man I once was; a ghost._ In the distance the sun was rising higher, and in its light the looming shape ahead was illuminated.

The Free Cities of Essos. _Just like a shadow I am forced to hide in this world, forever in the dark;_ and so the Prince became nothing more than an exile. His entire world left behind and before him a place he had once dreamed to travel with… nobody. Zan had never dreamed of this place; he had never dreamt at all.


	5. Zan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the small town of Tariif a young man finds comfort in cool, but no memories.

The town of Tariif was a small settlement on the banks The Narrow Sea. Situated south of Pentos, north of Tyrosh, and west of Myr. It was largely inhabited despite its size. Tariif was often overlooked on most maps that showed The Free Cities of Essos, but that was how the citizens liked it. Most of the people who frequented the town came from all over Essos, from its neighbors as well as from the cities Myr, Bravos and even Volantis in the south. Everyone who came to Tariif shared one thing in common, their love of money and death. The Fighting Pits of The Free Cities were well known throughout Westeros, but in the west they spoke of glory, fame and riches – the truth was less grand. In the great cities like Meeren and Astapor in Slavers Bay, thousand attended to see men fight and die for money. It was the same in Tariif, although its crowds were less numerous and the fighting more brutal. The Pit was the towns’ only landmark, as it had no walls, temples or septs, just a busy market with a few taverns and pleasure houses. It was no place for a Prince of Westeros, and that was why Zan had come here.

 _The Golden Koi_ had been originally heading for Tyrosh in the south, but by means of money Zan had convinced the captain to make a stop before its destination. With his remaining coin, wine soaked cloak and his only treasure wrapped in a green bundle sling on his shoulder, the exile shed no tears leaving the ship behind. Zan had only said a few words to the boy Kym Rivers before he left, the lad was sad to see him go he knew, but Zan did not care. Kym seemed like he would make a good man and perhaps even a decent captain if he ever grew a set of balls. Yet the moment Zan’s feet touched the wooden planks that surrounded the docks of Tariif the small bastard boy who dreamt of leading was swept away from his thoughts entirely.

Tariif's "port" was little more than a large dock, a small shack and hundreds of merchants littering the boardwalk buying and selling from the arriving ships. As Zan walked through the crowd with the dock behind him, he could see what looked like two guards patrolling about near the shack. The taller of the two was yelling and gesturing to his sword, his anger directed at a short squat red faced merchant, who obviously did not appreciate being shouted at. While this argument went on the other guard was simply laying back with an opened scroll in his hands, clearly amused by the whole ordeal. Zan kept his distance but as he passed the shack on his left he saw that both of the guards were Tyroshi and on their hips hung rust covered longswords. Despite the poor condition of the blades the guards obviously felt intimidating with the steel at their sides. _It is the same with most cowards_ , Zan thought to himself, _they feel strong when they have a weapon, even if they have no knowledge of how to use it._

The sun was high in the sky and with it a sweltering heat bore down on Tariif. In Westeros Zan had experienced a different type of heat, a more biting head that left red burns on his light skin if he had now been careful. Tariif’s heat felt as though a blanket hung over the man, and he almost imagined that it would be thus in Dorne; _but I have never been to such a place_ he thought, almost peaceful with his denial. Zan was thankful then for the satin robes he had thought to buy from a Dornish sailor on the Golden Koi, they were a faded orange with no orientate markings or designs that would befit a prince, but they were light and breathable, which was welcome in the heat. His old clothes had been no use to him; they hadn’t even been washed since leaving Kings Landing and stunk of wine vomit and sweat, but the sailors welcomed any extra garb, so Zan had exchanged them for an extra wine skin to take with him.

The port directly lead into the market and with it all kinds of stalls surrounded Zan on both sides, behind them the houses and shops of the town loomed above, their white and pink bricks sweltering in the heat. For as far as he could see hundreds of people swarmed the makeshift road that lead from the dock. Merchants called out from behind their stalls and their numerous children chased one another through the crowds. The smell of fish was heavy in the air but the further Zan walked the scent of spices began to overpowered the stink of rot. A few merchants called out to Zan when the crowd grew thinner, but the exile ignored them all, nothing they sold could interested him. As he walked Zan took a swig of his wine, it was warm but the liquid felt refreshing in his mouth, already it had grown dry and full of sand. A sudden gust of wind sent many of the townsfolks robes fluttering, and a few of the merchants cursed out to the gods in High Valyrian. Zan pulled his hood up higher and wrapped a satin scarf around his mouth to keep out the sand, and to further conceal his face. He strongly doubted anyone would be looking for a Prince of Westeros in this forgotten town of filth, but it did not hurt to be cautious.

It seemed like an age before the stalls finally seemed to end and Zan was free of the crowds, the air was cooler without so many bodies pressed tight around him. On his right the buildings continued on for a time until they began to turn right and swing upwards as they rose up a small hill. Perched on the top of this hill towering above the town was The Fighting Pit. A large round wooden structure it rose ten stories from the peak of the hill, while still greatly smaller than the pits in the other cities, even from down in the market Zan could hear the roar of people cheering.

The town stretched on before him for some way, leading into what looked like a town square, the buildings there situated around a large monument. It was carved into the likeness of a warrior, a sword gripped in its left hand pointing up towards the hill and in the other it clutched a large rectangular shield. The warrior’s foot was perched upon what looked like a severed head, but Zan was too far to make out its features. Left to the bottom of the hill Zan spotted what looked like a tavern. It appeared a small sandstone building, to its right a canopy had been raised to better shelter its occupants from the sweltering heat. Attached to the great wooden door there hung a sign depicting a chalice crossed with two golden daggers. With one final swig Zan drained the last of his wine and headed towards the building, curiosity seeping into his hazy mind.

Once inside the tavern Zan found it was moderately crowed, two fat richly robed merchants sat playing _cyrvasse_ while some younger men looked on. In the far right corner three brightly robed bravos sat drinking, their slender blades laid across their table. It appeared they were playing a game – one of the three men was stabbing at his hand with a small silver dagger with increasing speed much to the delight of his two friends. To the left side of the tavern was the bar itself, a heavily bearded man in faded green robes was moping at the counter, he looked up as Zan entered; as though he had sensed the man’s presence. The barkeep did not smile but chose to acknowledge Zan, with a nod of his head. He then went back to his cleaning. Deciding that the interior was not all that becoming Zan found himself moving to the outside as it was much less crowded, only an old man with a thick black mustachio sat on one of the benches smoking some form of pipe, he gave Zan a large smile of blackened teeth before saluting him with his cup and taking a large gulp. Ignoring the man Zan chose a shaded spot next to a wall, resting his back against the stone he felt a cool chill go up his spine, it was quite refreshing in the humid heat outside. Laying his head back against the wall Zan could not resist a sigh of contempt, it seemed years since the last time he had had a relief from the baking sun. It had been three months since he had left Westeros, back then the exile had been a prince of Westeros, condemned to The Wall for no real crime other than being born from a mad man, a choice he would gladly undo if he had had the power to. As Zan thought back to that time his mind began to wonder, it seemed so long ago now, yet he could still picture it in his mind clearer than his childhood memories. _Zan has no childhood memories_ , he reminded himself. Still, the images came rushing back to him then.

_A small routine of Lannister soldiers were heading north to deliver their royal prisoner to The Wall. In the aftermath of the Baratheon rebellion most of the Targaryen loyalists had thrown down their swords and bent the knee to King Robert, the usurper. Nevertheless, in some areas the now rebels still fought on, and the north itself was a dangerous place. Bendrick Trant was the captain in charge of the routine. House Trant was a vassal of House Baratheon, but Bendrick himself had sworn allegiance to the Lannisters shortly before the rebellion. He had fought in the sacking of Kings Landing, leading the men who stormed the Red Keep and accompanied Tywin to the Throne Room. Proving himself to be a capable man Bendrick was then ordered to deliver the high value prisoner to The Wall, and quell any remaining rebels that were found along the way._

_Rhaego Targaryen had learned to hate the name Trant shortly after meeting the so called Knight. Wounded, chained and broken, the prince could do nothing but suffer Bendrick Trants japes, humiliations, and even beatings. It had first begun a few days ride from Kings Landing, a few vulgar words about the Targaryens, Rhaegar’s name was mentioned, but when Trant failed to get the reaction he evidently wanted from the prince, he had resorted to more "hands on" torment. The words and insults simply washed over Rhaego as he sat in the saddle, nothing Trant could say would hurt Rhaego as much as the pain burning through his body. The wounds he suffered from Jaime Lannister had been sewn up and bandaged, yet they too had begun to burn, even before Trants beatings started. The blows had been occasional to begin with, mostly when Trant or the other men grew bored, or brave in their drunken stupors. Everyone wanted to have a taste of beating a prince, slaying a dragon they would joke. And none more than Bendrick Trant._

_"You'll be wearing black soon enough boy, we better give you a face to match" he would say, and Rhaego would let him have his fill of abuse. Besides pummeling his face with a mailed fist, Trant also took great pleasure in targeting the prince’s wounds. Yet despite the agony he felt, nothing would bring Rhaego to cry out, physical pain was only temporary, but inside the prince knew he would hurt forever._

_When he was allowed to sleep Rhaego dreamed of his father, laughing as he lay dying on the floor, watching as Rhaego tried to fight off Jaime Lannister, Tywin Lannister, and Ser Gregor Clegane. Other nights he would relive the night of the sacking as if he was there again, but always at the end came the pain of losing everything, and as he lay screaming on the throne room floor, Aerys laughter ever present in the background. The same laughter Rhaego had been subjected to many times as a child. When he were a child the laughter was kind not cruel but his Father’s madness had grown and with it his laughter had developed into something a little more severe. The most prominent memory of his father’s maddened laughter was when he had burnt Rickard Stark alive and as Brandon Stark strangled himself trying to save his him, his father. Visenya had excused herself with hurried words, her eyes never leaving Brandon Stark’s face as it began to turn an ugly shade of purple. Unable to watch the ordeal, the blatant murder but Rhaego had stayed, suited in his armor he refused to seem weak in front of Aerys, but his father had barely noticed Visenya’s words nor his son’s courage, being too caught up in the deaths of the two Stark men. Their eyes sometimes came back to Rhaego, Rickards were all agony as he burned, barely visible through his helm, while Brandon's eyes were full of anger, anger and fear. That was the day he and Rhaegar had decided it was enough._

_Their father had steadily been growing madder and erratic as the years went on, this had only been hastened by the Defiance of Duskendale. Rhaegar had suffered from Aery's madness too, having been embarrassed and shamed by him throughout his years, their father had even come to fear Rhaegar it seemed. But when his brother had come to him, Rhaego could see it was not because of any personal resentment, Rhaegar had suffered that for years, but with the murder of the two Starks, war was almost a certainty. The realm needed to rid of such a crazed ruler. They had worked on their plan in secret, visiting numerous lords who they knew would support them, with many sharing their desire for peace and stability it seemed it would work, until Lyanna Stark. With her apparent kidnapping by Rhaegar, everything he and Rhaego had worked for went up in fire and war. While his brother went to war Rhaego was lost with what to do, resenting his brother for throwing away their hard work for his own personal gains, Rhaego had remained in Kings Landing with Visenya, unsure of what to do next. Visenya had hid her resentment for eldest brother well it seemed, she was glad to have Rhaego to herself she told him no one to interrupt she had teased on more than one occasion, and for a while it seemed things would be okay. But they weren’t and they never would be again._

_These thoughts and memories frequented Rhaego's mind as he sat slumped in the saddle each day. After almost a moons turn of beatings, the pain of his memories, and night’s feverish tormenting dreams, Rhaego had found himself in the North. The routine had passed the battleground of The Trident days before, but Rhaego had found it too hard to look upon. Bendrick Trant had been sure to remind him of where they were and what had supposedly happened. Since then Rhaegar had rarely been far from Rhaego's mind, despite the feelings of resentment, he had loved his brother greatly, second only to Visenya. His loss had not struck the prince at first, but as the days went by Rhaego began to realize the other hole left in his life by Rhaegar’s death. The sun had begun to set on their first day in the north when the sky grew dark and foreboding. While the soldiers around him dismounted and began to set up camp, Rhaego had finally allowed himself to cry. His family was gone, his mother and Viserys lost, his father killed, his brother slain and Visenya murdered. He was all alone, and the further he travelled from what had been his family’s home, their ghosts seemed to begin haunting him more and more. The tears had slowly welled in his eyes, his body trembled against his sorrow, forbidding it from going on. Forbidding the weakness it brought with it. When finally the men seemed to be busy with duties, Rhaego had let the tears flow silently down his pale cheeks. Sorrow had begun to seize him uncontrollably when suddenly he felt a drop strike his hand. This was followed by another, then three drops and as he looked up to the sky the world began to cry itself._

_Rain began to pour down from the heavens, instantly soaking the prince to the bone. His tears were soon hidden in the downpour and his tunic that had earlier clung to him with sweat was now drenched through, yet it felt almost cleansing to Rhaego. He could not remember the last time it had rained, but he knew it had been when he was whole, before that night when he had lost everything. A smile filled his face then, as he remembered all the times he and Visenya had laid in bed listening to the rain outside his bedroom, her pale fingers tracing the names of their ancestors in delicate circles upon his naked chest. Rhaego was soon ripped from his memories as a firm hand pulled him down from the saddle. A Lannister soldier lifted him from the ground and half dragged him before throwing him down beside what had been the camps fire. Rhaego was not a small youth, his build was strong but these men were hardened warriors, they had seen the war and lived to tell the tales. Their scars had healed and left ugly marks upon their skin that Rhaego knew the marks Jaime had given him would soon turn into._

_Tents were erected around him as Rhaego shifted himself to a sitting position. The sound of the world was drowned out by the pouring rain, a few of the soldiers were yelling over the sound of the wind, rain and the occasional boom of thunder. Rhaego sat there in the rain wondering where the storm had come from so suddenly, his ragged clothes soaked through to his bones and he soon began to shiver as he felt the cold. He doubtfully wondered if one of the tents was for him, three had been raised so far, and two of the men were struggling with the fourth in the wind, but then a shout rang out through the camp and the attempt was abandoned._

_"Rider!" one man yelled out, his voice sounding hoarse as he fought to be heard over the wind._

_"Secure the prisoner!" came a reply from Bendrick Trant._

_Rhaego was instantly surrounded by Lannister soldiers, two flanked his sides, swords in one hand with the other ready to grab Rhaego, another two walked in stand in front, one man held a shield as well as his sword, while the other was missing his helm to expose a bald head beneath. Bendrick Trant stood before them all, he was the only one to not draw his sword. Another soldier came into few, no doubt the scout who had been watching the Kingsroad and had called out earlier. Seconds passed, another boom of thunder echoed overhead, this time followed by a flash of lightening, then finally the lone rider came into view. He moved with speed, but through the rain he only appeared a black shadow, that was until Rhaego saw the white cloak. The unknown Kingsguard demounted some way from them, but as he walked the man appeared to be limping, favoring his right leg._

_"Who goes there?" bellowed Bendrick Trant. Try to hide it as he had, there was still a faint quiver in his voice._

_Ser Barristan Selmy gave no reply as he approached, his black stallion following without the Knight having to drag him along. Despite the rain the beast was not afraid. Blood marked where he had spurred the horse continuously, it seemed the knight had made great haste to get here, and from the beasts shallow breathing it seemed he had pushed it too far. He wore no helm, his shaggy grey hair pinned to his face and neck by the rain. The golden armor of the Kingsguard looked a dirty brown in the storm ridden sky, but even in the poor light Rhaego could see that the armor appeared to have taken just as much damage as Ser Barristan. No doubt received in the Battle of the Trident, where he had fought alongside Rhaego's brother Rhaegar. An awkward silence hung in the air, It took the other men longer to realize who this golden knight was. Everyone in the Seven Kingdoms knew of Ser Barristan the Bold, but only those who resided in Kings Landing would know the man’s face at first glance, and Rhaego knew it all too well. Finally it seemed to dawn on Bendrick Trant who the man before him was._

_"Ser Barristan Selmy!" he exclaimed, his gruff persona seeming to fade away at the realization, his whole body stiffening in the process._

_Rhaego heard the usual whispers of the stories and deeds of Barristan the Bold from the soldiers around him, but the prince had heard them all before, having known Selmy himself for many years. Still, Rhaego was surprised to see him here. When people spoke about the Trident they had said how Selmy had been grievously injured, and Robert Baratheon had sent his Maester to treat the old knight after the battle, for him to be here now after receiving such apparent wounds was one thing, but still with his white cloak? It seemed that even the great knight had bent the knee before the Usurper._

_"Where is the prince?" the hoarse and shallow sounding voice of Ser Barristan rang out through the raging weather._

_Rhaego guessed he was fighting back pain, he clearly favored his right leg as he stood and he held a battered left arm against his torso, the armor clearly beyond repair; Rhaego wondered why he was still wearing it. The old knight’s eyes searched the men before him, squinting as rain pelted his face, ringing off his armor like its own personal choir. His eyes soon found Rhaego’s, and the emotion the prince saw in them was not pain, nor pity but a deep and gentle sadness. He has the nerve to look at me after betraying my family? And his precious honor? The bitter thought echoed through Rhaego's mind as he stared at the two men before him, still neither of them had spoken. Ser Barristan was the taller of the two, and despite Bendrick Trant standing before him the knights eyes never left Rhaego's, despite the man standing in his way. But then he spoke again, this time calmer than before, but his voice held more force;_

_"Where is the prince? Where is Rhaego Targaryen?", for an instant Ser Barristan sword hand flecked, but Rhaego saw it._

_"The prince? Ah, you mean the prisoner. What do you want with him?" replied Bendrick Trant, the rough arrogance returning to his voice. Barristan Selmy turned to look at Bendrick Trant, perhaps seeing him for the first time, and from the look on his face he did not approve of the man addressing him. His eyes narrowed into an intimidating stare._

_"And who are you?" Selmy said, a blatant tone of malice in his voice, "From the sigil on your breastplate you are of House Trant. From your lack of manners I have no doubt that is true. You would be Tywin’s new lapdog Bendrick then?"_

_Bendrick Trant seemed once again lost for words, a power hungry man such as he would normally be elated that a knight such as Barristan Selmy knew of him. But Selmy had also blatantly insulted him and Bendricks little mind was clearly struggling with this blatant disrespect. Selmy's eyes never left Bendricks face, and as Rhaego looked between the two, he noticed that Ser Barristans sword hung loose in its sheath. After another silence, this time more tense than awkward, Selmy was the one to speak again;_

_"I have been sent here by the King. Ordered by His Grace King Robert Baratheon, first of his name. Prince Rhaego Targaryen was sent here under orders of Tywin Lannister, sentenced to The Wall to spend the remainder of his days, but this is not the wish of the King. His grace has sanctioned that Rhaego Targaryen be sentenced to death. And I his executioner "._

_Those last words hung heavy in the air. The howling wind had grown still, the only sound being the rains relentless hammering, and the heavy breathing of the soldiers to Rhaego’s sides, as he glanced at them he saw that their breath misted before them in the cold Northern air. As the words began to sink in the prince shifted his feet and his chained hands rattled._

_So that’s it,_ _Rhaego thought as the words passed over in his mind, After suffering this torture each day, all for naught? Alas, it makes no matter. I died when the life left Visenya. Nothing these fools can do to me now will change that. I am sorry sweet sister, I tried to keep my promise, despite how pointless it has seemed. Slumping his head forward to stare at the drowning earth a weight seemed to leave Rhaego then. Water streamed down this face, but no tears lingered in Rhaego’s eyes now. After that night in Kings Landing each day since had been nothing but pain, inside as well as out. But the feeling of emptiness that ached through Rhaego's body was like no other pain he had ever felt before, and all the prince had wanted now was to follow his brother and sister from this life into death. I should have saved these men the trouble and killed Jaime Lannister when I had the chance. At least then I could leave this world with a taste of vengeance. A faint smile crossed Rhaego's face then, although it did not reach his eyes. It seemed an age had passed before Bendrick Trant finally regained the ability to speak._

_"Ser?" was all the Knight could manage. Ser Barristan did not seem to hear him and his eyes returned to Rhaego's. This time they held no sadness or pain, and the longer Rhaego held his gaze, a fire began to simmer in the eyes of Ser Barristan the Bold._

_"Prince Rhaego." the Kingsguard bellowed, "I was not there to protect your father, and I could do nothing to save your brother. My solemn duty as a Kingsguard was to protect them, to protect all of you. I failed one prince, but I shall not fail another." The world seemed to shatter then as it was filled by thunder and lightening, and in the blinding light Ser Barristan struck._

_A mailed fist was driven into the gut of Bendrick Trant, the boom of thunder above giving force to the blow. But before his first foe had fallen Ser Barristans sword was in his hand. With his injuries seemingly forgotten, the knight dashed forward, and in the confusion following his first attack, the next foe could do nothing to protect himself. The Lannister soldier who held the shield made no attempt to raise it as Ser Barristans blade bit into his neck, cutting through armor and mail alike. It seemed to dawn on the other men then what was happening. To his left and right the two soldiers grabbed at Rhaego, attempting to force him to the ground. But the prince had also realized. With his wrists chained together Rhaego drove an elbow into the exposed face of the man to his right, the force of it jarring his arm. He felt bones shatter from the force of the blow, and as the second man attempted to yell out, Rhaego clutched his hands together and sung them at his head. This man wore a full helm so the sudden impact merely stunned him, but even so he had no time to react to it. In the next moment heavy iron chains wrapped around his neck and drew tight, constricting his throat. As he struggled to breathe the solders arms reached out for someone to save him, but the prince then turned so they were back to back, and pulled down with all the force he had._

_The shallow gasps of the helmed soldier were followed by a loud crack as Rhaego pulled him over his back and smashed his body into the muddy ground, then he went still and silent. Untangling his chains from the dead man Rhaego wasted no time in drawing the Lannisters sword. The blade was heavy compared to Dark Sister, and it felt awkward having to grasp it with his hands chained. But Rhaego Targaryen could still fight. Turning his attention back to Ser Barristan, the knight appeared to be struggling with this last foe. The remaining soldier rushed at Selmy with large savage strokes, each one aimed to kill. Selmy attempted to parry the blows while he back stepped away, but then he seemed to remember his wounds. The injured leg gave out beneath him, sending the knight to his knees with a shout of pain. Without hesitation the soldier moved forward, his blade raised for the killing blow. But a gasp of surprise was all the man could manage as a sword sheered through his spine. Driving the point through to pierce the man’s chest plate, Rhaego saw the soldiers sword fall from his grasp to the mud below. Dead weight carried his foe to the ground when the prince removed the sword, its blade coated with Lannister blood._

_Ser Barristan was back on his feet then, his breathing heavy and ragged. Returning his sword to its sheath he began to approach the prince, his limp causing him to leave heavy footfalls in the mud. But once he had drawn near, Rhaego raised his stolen sword to point at Ser Barristans chest. The knight did not seemed surprised nor intimidated, he merely looked from the blade tip aimed at his heart, to the man he had just broken his sacred vows for, if they could be indeed be broken by saving the rightful heir to the Iron Throne._

_Rhaego held his stare, seeing for the first time a look of fatigue. It was hard to remember that Ser Barristan Selmy was a man of six and forty. Despite this Selmy was still one of the greatest knights in the Seven Kingdoms, perhaps even the best of his age, the prince had no doubt the old man would still put up a fight even in his battered and bloodied state. A few heartbeats passed where neither man’s eyes moved from the others. It was a long moment until a small smirk crossed Rhaego’s face. Ser Barristan had proven his loyalty, for now. Even so there was a question in the princes stare, the way he held his sword as though ready to strike an open threat. Only after Rhaego lowered his sword a sign of relief had crossed Selmy's face, and the prince saw Ser Barristan look truly old for the first time in his life. In Kings Landing Ser Barristan was forever dressed in his golden armor and impeccable white cloak, the signature of his order. Being a knight of the Kingsguard it was his job to protect the royal family at all costs, to do and say as the King commanded him, he had served under these rules for as long as Rhaego could think back. However, here and now, broken and bloodied with dents in his armor and dirt coating his cloak, Ser Barristan looked a different man. The battle on the Trident had taken a toll on the man, emotionally along with physically it appeared. Rhaego would have embraced the man who had saved him from not only a life of angry cold solitude, but also it turned out from his death. But before Rhaego could even speak Ser Barristan dropped to his knees, his rain drenched cloak hung heavy against his back whilst it’s length fell into the mud without so much as an undignified look from the Knight._

_"Prince Rhaego. I am sorry I could not arrive sooner, my injuries slowed my return from the Trident, I did not even know who had tended to my words and saved my life. When I heard of what happened to your family I did not believe it. At first anger gripped me, and if I had been able I would of marched to Robert Baratheon, Tywin Lannister, and anyone else who got in my way to avenge the dead. Be that as it is, I could scarcely walk, my mind clouded by the milk of the poppy. In fevered dreams I saw your brother and sister, the two of them happy and laughing, as they had been in the months before this unlawful rebellion, I called out to them, attempted to warn them of the impending doom, but their specters could not hear me. Those dreams changed though, more and more I saw your fallen brother, even your sister once I heard the maids who tendered to me whisper of how she had died.” Ser Barristan clenched his jaw for a long moment and Rhaego wondered if this man could even comprehend how much pain his words caused him. “Even then in my dreams I tried to save them. After waking to the sound of my own screams I attempted to climb from my bed, intent on doing anything to regain my honor. But my legs could not hold me, and once again I collapsed, falling into yet another fevered dream. When my fever broke finally, I knew what I had to do. I played the mummer, graciously thanking the Usurper for saving my life when he visited, even going to so far as to call him "your grace" or "my king". Robert Baratheon is not my king, nor will he ever be. He is a man who saved my life, but he is also the one who has caused this bloodshed. He is the reason the Seven bleed." Ser Barristan lowered his head then, sadness etching its way into his voice, and his clenched hands, resting on his knees, seemed to tremor as he spoke. "When finally I was well enough to walk Robert brought me to his chambers, expressing how he was willing to allow me to serve in his Kingsguard, as the Lord Commander. First I was shocked, and I would be a lying fool if I said a part of me was not tempted to accept. But then he told me the terms, I was to track down the men Tywin Lannister had sent north, find you, and bring back your head to prove my loyalty. In that moment if I had processed a weapon I would have struck him now then and there. But I am not a foolish old man just yet, I knew that to avenge your family I must save the last dragon. I accepted Roberts offer, donned my battered armor, and rode with all the speed I could muster. Three horses died while I tried to reach you. But it was never my intention to harm you, I came to save you. I serve House Targaryen, and House Targaryen alone. As a knight of the Kingsguard I have sworn to protect the king. With the death of your brother and father, you are now my King Prince Rhaego. How may I serve you?"_

_Rhaego regarded the man before him, the prince could not help but admire this gallant knight who cared for much for honor, and his family. For the first time since the sacking a slight feeling of compassion filled the prince then. After everything Ser Barristan had gone through, he had rushed to his prince’s side as soon as he was able. This man was now the only friend Rhaego had, but he would not allow Ser Barristan to die for a fallen prince who had no means to regain his family’s throne now. Still, he would not dishonor Ser Barristan by telling him so._

_"You can start by getting off your knees Ser Barristan. You need not kneel before me, you have proved your loyalty beyond question here today. For that I thank you." Rhaego said, his own voice sounded strange in his ears, it had been days since he had last spoken aloud. The prince was not surprised to hear the emptiness etched in his words when he spoke, he had tried to sound strong, but his voice still appeared hollow .Ser Barristan rose then, looking younger now, some of the sadness had left his eyes. Yet they still flicked to the blood soaked sword Rhaego clutched in his chained hands. "It was my sisters dying wish that I survive this rebellion, and live out my days, however that might be. So it is with a heavy heart that I say I cannot allow anyone to know I still draw breath." Selmy’s eyes widened then, and Rhaego Targaryen couldn’t help but smile. Raising his sword then, he plunged it downwards, imbedding it in the leg of Bendrick Trant._

_A roar of agony echoed through the storm, the wind and rain had begun to fade now as night approached. Bendrick Trants cries of pain were that of a bellowing coward, as Rhaego had known him to be. The man clutched at the sword now jutting from his leg, but as Rhaego began to twist the blade, his arms attempted to grip the ground as his back arched and his screams became even louder. Rhaego heard Ser Barristan shift uncomfortably behind, even taking a step towards him before thinking better of it. Even if he tried, no man would stop Rhaego from causing this man agony. The prince must of looked mad then, smiling as he twisted and drove the sword deeper into Bendrick Trants leg. Only when he felt the sword break through skin again did Rhaego release his grip, the victim’s cries of pain turned to whimpering sobs. But Rhaego was not finished. Grabbing Bendrick by his chest place the prince pulled the man to his feet, the sword still jutting from his leg. This caused another gasp of pain to escape Bendrick Trants lips, and as Rhaego pulled the man closer to him, the whimpering returned. Rhaego tried to look into the man’s eyes, but his gaze would not meet Rhaego’s._

_"Look at me you fool" he said, the same malice entering his voice as it had with Jaime Lannister, but this time Rhaego's voice was almost a whisper, the same mad smile across his face. Bendrick would not look at him though, so Rhaego firmly griped the man’s chin with a hand and pulled his face to look. "For days on end I have suffered at your hands as you played the torturer for you and your men’s amusement. But look at them now, laughter will never again grace their lips. They shall never again enjoy the misery of another, and the world is a better place without men such as them. So that only leaves you." It was easy to see the fear in Bendrick Trants eyes then, he was no longer the formidable knight he had attempted to be, now he was just a cowering babe, Rhaego wondered if the man had soiled his smallclothes with a dark amusement. "You may have sworn your sword to Tywin Lannister, but you are with no question a Trant. Scum such as your family resents any who are above them, you abandoned that family to serve another, hoping to increase your own power and standing. But know this, you are nothing. No matter what you do, who you may kill, torture or rape, you will always be the same shallow man who envies those who he deems better than him. Hear me now coward, I am Rhaego Targaryen, the last dragon, now rightful King of the Seven Kingdom’s, and peasants such as you bow before me." Rhaego kicked the sword then, quick to cover Bendricks mouth as he screamed and fell to his knees, but even then the prince did not release his grip on the man’s face. "Now, beg for mercy from your king", Rhaego kicked the sword again. When the screams stopped a few moans of incoherence were all came from Bendrick Trants mouth then._

_As Rhaego moved a hand to grip the man’s neck his moans grew to plead of sorrow, begging for his miserable life. But it was too late for such things. Rhaego could feel the bones beneath his hands as his grip began to intensify. Bendricks pleas turned to croaked sounds then, searching for air his breaths became quickened and short. He tried to shake his head, his eyes pleading to Rhaego’s where his words could not. The prince’s answer was to release his grip on the man’s chin, only to move it to his other hand on his neck. Blood pulsed in his veins, Bendricks face growing red, to pink, his arms and legs began to shuffle in an attempt to break free. But Rhaego held firm, he continued to stare into this man’s eyes, wiling him to feel the rage roaring through the prince’s body. It had slowly festered since that night in Kings Landing, anger overpowering his feelings of sorrow and loss. Life began to fade from Bendricks eyes as he died, and all too soon his body went still. But it did not quell Rhaego’s anger. Finally releasing his grip the dead man’s body fell, the sword in his leg no longer a worry to him. The prince watched it fall, but it did not give him the satisfaction he had hoped. Bendrick Trant had been nothing, a cruel man who took pleasure in low, unlawful acts yes, and after what he had done to the prince he did deserve to die. But he was not Tywin Lannister. Nor Robert Baratheon, or even Jaime Lannister. This lowlife had just been one of the many such soldiers in this world, and another dead one made no difference. Rhaego stared at the body, thinking on how many other men would have died at his hands, if he had only been there on the Trident. The resentment he felt for his brother Rhaegar still lingered, but there was also the feeling of self-failure. The prince pushed these thoughts aside as Barristan Selmy came to stand beside him, his eyes too on the body._

_"Forgive me your Grace, but did he truly deserve such a death?" the knight asked, clearly uncomfortable with how Bendrick Trant had died, and with questioning Rhaego’s actions._

_"I am no king Ser Barristan. But no. For what he has done, not just to me but to countless others, he deserved to die aye. But he was not the man who killed my family. For those people I have much worse fates in store. Fire and Blood Ser Barristan"_

_"Are so intent on revenge then? What of the throne? What of the Usurper? What of the people who need their true king? Are you going to throw your life away just so you may feel vengeance?" Try as he might Selmy could not hide the anger in his voice as he spoke, "Forgive me, I forget myself Prince Rhaego"_

_"Well I may wish for the death of those who have wronged me and my family Ser Barristan, I do not have the wish to waste whatever short life I may have left on a quest for revenge." The anger left Ser Barristans face then, and he even allowed himself a sigh of relief, but Rhaego continued to speak, "Nor do I have the means to start a war to reclaim the throne. It may be mine by right, but this realm has bled enough. Visenya asked me to live, so that is what I shall do. Westeros thinks me dead, I intend to keep it that way. You do not wish to serve Robert Baratheon, I admire that, so I would never command you to do such a thing, but I will ask you to return to him, tell him of my death, that you found these dead men, tracked me down, and finished me yourself." The old knight made to protest, but before he could Rhaego raised a hand to silence him. 'I do not wish you to risk your life by following me wherever I may go, so I will only ask you one thing. Find my mother. She fled Kings Landing with Viserys, helped by Ser William Darry and a few trusted men of his. But I do fear for them, and I could rest easier in life if I knew they had Barristan the Bold protecting them. Viserys will need a good mentor now with me and Rhaegar gone, I know you would teach him honor and the means to protect himself, as well as his mother.” Rhaego paused for a moment before looking across the open plain before him, am I going to keep this secret? He asked himself, when he looked back to Selmy he knew he could not. “My Mother was with child when she left Kings Landing, if by miracle the child lives… Tell them of us, our family, and how great our house once was. Keep them safe, and help them to live out the rest of their days comfortably if you can. This is all I ask of you."_

_It took a few moments for Selmy to reply, he had hid his feelings towards what Rhaego asked of him well, but there had still been a hint of hurt in his eyes. No doubt the knight wished to die gallantly in battle with a sword in his hand, but good men like Barristan Selmy were scarce in this age. He deserved to live out his days for as long as the gods wished, Rhaego did not want to drag the man into some forgetten part of the world, where a prince must go to disappear. Passing on his skills to Viserys and protecting Rhaella was an easy life for a man who had suffered as much as Ser Barristan. And indeed, if the child his Mother carried had managed to draw breath in this world, his Mother would need even more help to raise it. Rhaego knew his Mother loved him and his siblings well, but he remembered a lot of the serving staff that raised him as well. There are no handmaidens for you now, Mother Rhaego sighed, unable to prevent the breath from escaping his thoughts it materialized in the real world and a white mist rose from his lips unwarranted._

_'If that is what you wish prince Rhaego, it shall be done. It will be good to see Ser William again, and if I cannot protect you, I shall protect the young prince Viserys. But where shall you go my…” Barristan hesitated, if Rhaego was to be dead, what does one call a dead man? The Seven Kingdom’s was a dangerous place for a dead man, the Targaryen look of silver hair and violet eyes was well known. But there was another world across the sea where men from Westeros were scarce. Rhaego did not wait for Barristan to decide on a name, and instead replied;_

_"Across the Narrow Sea to the Free Cities. I shall leave this land behind me, too many ghosts linger in this place. The people will embrace their new king, if he is just and fair they will come to love him. It shall be a good change after my father and what he has done. I do not know what lays ahead of me, but if I know that what remains of the Targaryens is safe, I can care less what happens to me. She asked me to live, and I will try to honor my promise."_

_Rhaego moved to one of the tied horses then, they had been forgotten in the conflict, but they could smell the blood. Pulling at their reins they were nervous as the prince approached. A brown mare had been his steed during the journey from Kings Landing, and it was her that held the remainder of his belongings. Dark Sister was tied there, sleeping in her ordinate scabbard. Rhaego had been allowed to take the sword with him north to the wall, but besides the clothes he wore now it was his only possession. The Nights Watch only allowed their own black clothing so the prince had not been allowed to take any of his own, not that he cared. Rhaego pulled the blade out now, the sheath was too lavish to take with him, the blade could be hidden in another home, and if Rhaego was forced to use the sword he would make sure no one lived to remember it. He had been given a green travelling cloak to keep warm during the trip and he wrapped Dark Sister inside it now, the ancestral sword was well known in Seven Kingdoms, so until he was across the sea it was not safe for the blade to be free of cover. By the time Rhaego returned to Ser Barristan the knight held two small bags in his hands and offered them to the prince as he drew near._

_"To help on your journey Rhaego, please take them. No matter where you go gold is accepted." Selmy said, pressing the bags into his free hand. But before he could thank the man, Barristan offer Rhaego his other hand, it was a closed fist. Puzzled Rhaego gave Selmy a questioning look, but when he saw the knights face, tears were in his eyes. "I found this, after the battle. I do not know what happened to the others. As he fell, royalist and rebel alike dived in to grab them, but this one was still sitting in the water when I emerged. Please, you deserve to have it. Do with it what you wish." And then Ser Barristan opened his hand, there in the middle of his palm, was a single red ruby._

_"Rhaegar’s ruby..." Rhaego said, emotion he thought he no longer felt rushing through him. Rhaegar’s black armor had been well known, and the rubies encrusted in its design were famous. Taking it in his hand Rhaego gazed down at the single stone, he was surprised to see tears fall from his eyes to land in his palm, breaking on the ruby so it too seemed to weep. Raising his head to look at Ser Barristan, Rhaego made no effort to hide his sadness. "Thank you Ser, this means more than the life you have just returned to me. Thank you."_

Back in Tariif a single man sat alone, the sun had long since set and the cold had set into the very stone of the town. Cries could be heard from the fighting pit and with a final swig of his drink the man stood, looked up to the great full moon that loomed overhead and made a choice. Slowly at first he began to walk up sandstone stairs, the noise of the pit grew ever louder until Zan could see the tiny specks that had to be the fighters. _Zan has no childhood memories_ he repeated to himself as he watched the commotion below. _He has nothing._


End file.
